Bankimchandra Omnibus: Volume - 1: v. 1

by Bankimchandra Chattopadhyay

  After some thought I said, ‘I have never studied this matter.’

  ‘Then learn from me. You know that I am an expert in this shastra?’

  ‘I can see that.’

  ‘Then learn. Imagine you are a man. Watch how I bewitch your heart.’

  With these words, the shameless woman, veiling her face a little, brought me some scented paan, prepared with her own hands, and gave it to me. She kept this paan for Raman Babu alone, and gave it to no one else. She did not even take it herself. Raman Babu’s hookah was there, its bowl in place; only ashes in it: Subhashini held it before me, pretending to let me puff. Then she took in her hand a palm-stalk ornamented with flowers and began to fan me. The bracelets and bangles on her arm jingled sweetly.

  I said, ‘Sister! This is just serving—have I kept him here today just to show him how much I know about serving?’

  Subhashini said, ‘Are we not servants, then?’

  I said, ‘When his love awakens, that is the time for serving. Then I will fan him, massage his feet, prepare his paan and offer it to him, and offer him tobacco. Now is not the time for all that.’

  Then Subhashini, laughing, came and sat close to me. She took my hand between hers and started to speak sweet words to me. At first, laughing and chewing paan, her earrings swinging, she spoke according to the pretence she had set up. But as she spoke, that mood was forgotten. She started to speak as a woman friend. She spoke of my going away. A teardrop sparkled in her eye. Then, to cheer her, I said, ‘What you have taught me are indeed the weapons of women, but will they prevail now with U. Babu?’

  Then Subhashini laughed and said, ‘Then learn my divine weapon.’

  With these words, the woman circled my throat with her hands, raised my face and kissed me on the mouth. One teardrop fell on my cheek.

  With a gulp I suppressed my tears and said, ‘Oh, sister, you are teaching me to offer a reward without a commitment.’

  Subhashini said, ‘But you will not have the skill. Demonstrate and let me see what you know. Imagine I am U. Babu’—saying this she disposed herself splendidly on the sofa; she could not help laughing, and stuffed the end of her sari in her mouth. When her laughter had stopped, she gave me one stern look—and then immediately fell back laughing again. When that laughter had ceased she said, ‘Demonstrate!’ Then I made Subhashini acquainted a little with that skill of which the reader will later have some acquaintance. Subhashini pushed me off the sofa—she said, ‘Away with you, sinful one! You are a regular cobra!’

  ‘Why, sister?’

  ‘Can a man endure that laughing glance? He would be slain.’

  ‘Then I pass the examination?’

  ‘A high pass—the one hundred and sixty-nine men of the commissariat, too, have never seen such a laughing glance. If the fellow’s head spins, give him some almond oil.’

  ‘Very well. I can tell by the sounds that the Babus have finished their meal. It’s past time for Raman Babu to come: I will take my leave now. Of what you have taught me, one thing was particularly sweet—that kiss on the mouth. Come and teach me again.’

  Then Subhashini clasped my neck, and I clasped hers. In a close embrace we kissed each other, and clasped each other round the neck; we both wept for a long time. Is there any other such love? Does anyone else know how to love like Subhashini? I may die, but I shall not forget Subhashini.

  14

  My Vow to Cast Off This Life

  AFTER CAUTIONING HARAMANI, I WENT TO MY OWN BEDROOM. THE BABUS had finished their meal. At this point, there was a great commotion. Someone called for a fan, someone called for water, someone called for medicine, someone called for a doctor: that kind of confusion. Haramani arrived, laughing. I asked, ‘What is all the commotion about?’

  Haramani said, ‘The guest had a fainting fit.’

  ‘And then?’ I asked.

  ‘Now he has recovered.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Now he is very exhausted—he couldn’t go home. At this very moment he is lying in the room next to the big reception room.’

  I understood that this was a ruse. I said, ‘When all the lights have been extinguished, and everyone is in bed, come back.’

  Haramani said, ‘But I’m sick.’

  I said, ‘Sick, your head! And the heads of five hundred ladies, if I have the chance!’

  Laughing, Haramani went away. Later, when all the lights had been extinguished and everyone was in bed, Haramani came and took me with her and showed me the room. I entered the room. I saw that he was lying there alone. There was no sign of exhaustion; there were two big lamps burning in the room: he was lighting up everything with his own beauty. I, too, was pierced as if by an arrow. My body was flooded with bliss.

  This was my first conversation with my husband since I had grown up. How can I say what happiness it was? I am very talkative—but when I first tried to speak to him, no words at all came out. My throat closed up. All my limbs trembled. My heart started to pound. My mouth dried up. Because no words would come, I fell to weeping.

  He did not understand those tears. He said, ‘Why do you weep? I did not send for you—you came of your own accord—so why the weeping?’

  My heart was deeply wounded by this severe speech. That he thought me a loose woman—at that my tears flowed faster. I thought to myself, ‘Now I will make myself known—I cannot bear this pain any more’; but then it occurred to me, that if he said to himself, ‘She comes from Black Lake; she must have heard the story of my wife’s abduction and now, in the desire for riches, is passing herself off as my wife’—how would I convince him? Therefore, I did not make myself known. I sighed deeply, wiped my eyes, and started to converse with him. After a while, he said, ‘I was astonished to hear that you came from Black Lake. I never even dreamed that such a beautiful woman could be born at Black Lake.’

  I saw that he was looking at me with great amazement. I made up an answer to his words and said, ‘I may or may not be beautiful. In our region, it is your wife’s beauty that is celebrated.’ Turning the conversation to his wife by this stratagem, I asked, ‘Has there been any trace of her?’

  He said, ‘No. How long have you been away from the region?’

  I said, ‘I left the region after all that business. Then perhaps you have married again?’

  He said, ‘No.’

  I saw no chance of his answering on important matters. I had come voluntarily, as one seeking a love-tryst—there was no chance of his treating me with respect, either. He was looking at me in amazement. He said, just once, ‘I have never seen a person with so much beauty.’

  I had been very glad to hear that I did not have a co-wife. I said, ‘Since you are important people, you should be prudent in this matter. Otherwise, if, later, you should find your wife, the two co-wives will come to blows.’

  He laughed gently and said, ‘There is no fear of that. Even if I found that wife, it is not likely that I would accept her. She would have to be considered as having lost caste.’

  I was thunderstruck. So much hope and expectations was spoilt. Then, even if he came to know who I was, and recognized me to be his own wife, he would not accept me. This rebirth of mine as a woman was in vain.

  I took courage, and asked, ‘If you saw her now, what would you do?’

  He said, with a cheerful face, ‘I would cast her off.’

  What heartlessness! I was stunned. The world spun before my eyes.

  That night, sitting on my husband’s bed, looking at his flawless, enchanting form, I vowed, ‘He will accept me as his wife, or else I will cast off this life.’

  15

  A Loose Woman

  THEN THOSE THOUGHTS LEFT ME. I HAD KNOWN BEFORE THIS THAT HE WAS enchanted by me. I thought to myself, if it is no sin for a rhinoceros to use its horn, if it is no sin for an elephant to use its tusks, a tiger its claws, a buffalo its horns, then it would be no sin for me either. I would use all the weapons God had given me, for the good of the two of us. If there was ever a
time to go ‘making our anklets sound’, it was now. I went away from him and sat down at a distance. I started to talk cheerfully to him. He came close to me, and I said to him, ‘Do not come close to me; I see you are under a misapprehension.’ (I smiled as I said this, and as I spoke I unloosed my hair [if I do not speak truly, who will understand this story?] and sat binding it up again.) ‘You are under a misapprehension. I am not a loose woman. I came only to hear from you some news of the region. I have no immoral intentions at all.’

  Perhaps he did not believe this. He advanced, and sat down. Then I said, smiling, ‘You did not listen to me, so I will go; our meeting is at an end,’ and with these words, looking at him as the situation required, I got up, swaying a little like a spring creeper in the evening breeze, and, as if carelessly, letting my sleek, curling, scented tresses touch his cheek.

  Seeing that I really had got up, he was mortified, and came and took my arm. His hand fell on the bracelets of mallika buds. Keeping hold of my arm, he gazed at it as if astonished. I said, ‘What are you looking at?’ He said, ‘What is this flower? This flower is not fitting. The person is more beautiful than the flower. This is the first time I have seen a person more beautiful than the mallika flower.’ Angrily, I tore my arm away, but I smiled and said, ‘You are not a good person. Do not touch me. Do not think me immoral.’

  With these words, I moved towards the door. My husband—as yet, to think that word brought sorrow—he joined his hands together and called, ‘Heed my words, do not go. I have become maddened by your beauty. I have never seen such beauty. Let me see it a little longer. I will never see such beauty again.’ I came back again—but I did not sit down—I said, ‘Dearer than life! I am nothing; understand that my mental anguish is because I am leaving a jewel like you. But what can I do? Virtue is our only great wealth—I will not give up virtue for one day’s happiness. I came to you thoughtlessly, without realizing. I wrote to you thoughtlessly, without realizing. But I will not go to my downfall. The way to safety is still open. It is my good fortune that I have remembered this now. I am going.’

  He said, ‘You know your virtue. I have fallen into such a state that I no longer know virtue or sin. I swear to you that you will be the mistress of my heart for ever. Do not think that this is only for one day.’

  I smiled, and said, ‘I have no faith in men’s oaths. Can so much have happened in a moment’s meeting?’ With these words, I moved away again—I reached the door. Then, unable to contain himself any longer, he held my face in his two hands and blocked my way. He said, ‘I have never seen anyone like you.’ He let out a heart-piercing great sigh. Seeing his state, I, too, became sorrowful. I said, ‘Then let us go to your house—if you stay here, you must give me up.’

  He immediately agreed. His house was in Simla, very close by. His carriage was waiting, and the gatekeepers were asleep. We silently opened the gate and got into the carriage. When we reached his house, I saw that it was of two buildings. I entered one room first. As soon as I entered, I bolted the door. My husband lay down outside.

  From outside, he spoke in supplication. I said, laughing, ‘I have now become your servant. But I want to see whether the force of your love will last until morning or not. If I still see such love tomorrow, then I will talk with you again. This is all for now.’

  I did not open the door; perforce, he went elsewhere to rest. Tell me: if you sat a terribly thirsty, sick person down on the bank of a resevoir of cool water in the unbearable heat of the month of Jyaishtha, and bound their mouth so that they could not drink—would their love of water increase, or not?

  Well after daylight, I opened the door and saw that my husband was standing by the door. I took his hand in my own, and said, ‘Lord of my life, send me back to Ramram Datta’s house; or else do not talk with me for eight days. These eight days are your testing.’ He consented to the eight days’ test.

  16

  Having Committed Murder, I Am Hanged

  FOR EIGHT DAYS, I INFLAMED MY HUSBAND WITH ALL THE MEANS WHICH Providence has given women to inflame men with. I am a woman—how can I divulge these things? If I had not known how to ignite flames, he would not have been so enkindled during the past nights. But by what means I ignited those flames, by what means I fanned them, by what means I inflamed my husband’s heart, I cannot, for modesty, say anything about these. If any of my women readers have taken a vow to destroy a man, and have succeeded, they will understand. If any of my male readers have ever fallen into the hands of such a destroyer of men, then they will understand. It can be said that it is women who are earth’s thorns. More harm on earth is caused by us than by men. It is fortunate that not all women have this man-destroying knowledge, or else the earth would by now be unpopulated.

  For those eight days I stayed constantly with my husband; I spoke caressingly to him; I said not a single unpleasant thing. Smiles, glances, gestures—these are ordinary women’s weapons. On the first day, I spoke caressingly; on the second day, I showed signs of affection; on the third day, I started to act as his housewife; I started to do that by which his meals, his sleeping, his bathing would be orderly, and in every respect good; cooked with my own hands, and prepared everything, down to the toothpicks. If I saw him a little unwell, I would stay awake all night to serve him.

  Now, with joined hands, I humbly beg you not to think that all this was pretence. There was enough pride in Indira’s heart to prevent her from doing all this only from a desire for security, or a desire to be the mistress of her husband’s wealth. I could not have manifested a pretended love in the desire to get my husband—or, indeed, even to become the consort of Indra. I could use smiles and glances in order to enchant my husband, but I could not simulate love in order to enchant him. God did not make Indira of such clay. The unfortunate ones who cannot understand this—the heroines who will say to me, ‘You may set traps of smiles and glances, you may let loose your hair and bind it up again, with a trick of words you may let your curling locks touch the unfortunate fellow’s cheek and make him shiver—and you may even massage his feet or prepare his hookah!’—the unfortunate ones who will say such things to me: let those miserable things not read this chronicle of my life.

  Still, there will be a handful of you women (I am not thinking of men readers—how would they understand about these weapons?) to whom I can explain the truth. He was my husband: to serve my Lord was my joy, so it was no pretence; I did it with my whole heart. I thought to myself, ‘If he does not accept me, then at least for these few days let me fill my soul with, and taste, that which for me is the world’s best happiness—which will not happen ever again, cannot happen ever again.’ So, filling my soul, I served my Lord. The measure of my happiness in this, some of you will understand and some will not.

  I will take pity on my men readers and explain only the principles of smiles and glances. It is not possible to instil the theory of devotion to one’s husband into a mind whose limits are reached merely in sitting for college examinations, which sees the winning of ten rupees in a court of law as evidence of world-conquering genius; and whose absence is respectfully received in a court of justice. Will those who say, ‘Let widows marry; do not let women marry until they are grown up; let women, like men, become learned in the various shastras,’ understand the principles of devotion to one’s husband? Yet the reason I have said that I will, having mercy, explain the principles of smiles and glances is that these are very simple. As a mahout controls his elephant with an ankush, a coachman controls his horses with a whip, a cowherd controls his cows with a rod, and the Englishman controls a party of Babus with his reddened eyes, so we can control you with smiles and glances. Our devotion to our husbands is our virtue: that we are reviled for our smiles and glances is your sin.

  You will say, ‘These are very arrogant words.’ That is so—we, too, are earthenware pitchers, a blow with a flower can crack us. I was receiving the fruit of this pride in my own hands. The god who has no limbs, but a bow and arrow—no parents,20 but
a wife—an arrow of flowers, yet with that even mountains are split; that deity is the diminisher of women’s pride. Setting the traps of my own smiles and glances to catch another, I caught the other and was caught myself, also. Setting a fire, I burned another, and burned myself, as well. On the day of Holi, going to redden another in the play with red powder, I became flushed with love myself. I went to commit murder, and was hanged. I have said that his form was enchanting—I learned again that he whose beauty this was, was my treasure—

  I am beloved in his love

  I am beautiful in his beauty.21

  Then, there was the scattering of this fire. I knew how to smile; were there no answers to these smiles? I knew how to glance; were there no counter-glances? My lips, longing from a distance for a kiss, were swollen, petals of a flower-bud opening; did his soft lips, like a blossoming red flower, not know how to turn in my direction, with petals also thus opening? If I had seen in his smiles, his glances, his longing for kisses, only signs of sensual longing, I would have been the victor. That was not so. In these smiles, those glances, that trembling of his lips, was only tenderness—boundless love. So it was I who lost. Losing, I acknowledged that this was earth’s full measure of happiness. It serves that deity right, who brought physicality into this, that his own body was burned to ashes.22

  The time of testing was accomplished, but I had become so tamed by his love that I had decided in my own mind that when the period of the test was over, I would not leave even if he beat me and drove me away. So even if, when he learned who I was, he did not accept me as his wife, if I could stay with him even as his mistress, I would do that; if I could have my husband, I would not fear public disgrace. But in the fear that even that was not in my fate, I used, when I had the chance, to sit down and weep.